Breaking Rules
by Rylee Jane
Summary: Harry has left England behind, and Voldemort's forces have taken over. In the Hereafter, Sirius receives a proposition he can't resist. Rated for language and some adult content.
1. A Life Far Removed

**Breaking Rules**

_A Life Far Removed_

Author: Rylee Jane

Rating: M

Summary: Harry has left England behind, and Voldemort's forces have taken over. In the Hereafter, Sirius receives a proposition he can't resist. Rated for language and some adult content.

Disclaimers: I wish, oh how I wish, I could say I owned them. But they're all J.K. Rowling's. God bless her.

* * *

The point where the ocean finally conceded to the land was Harry's favorite place on the planet. He loved to sit and watch as the waves rolled in, taking up as much of the beach as they could, before fading back. High tide or low, it made no difference to him. The ocean was always, at most, less than a hundred feet from his back door.

His life now was as far removed from London, Hogwarts or Little Whinging as the sun from the moon. He sat in a lounge chair, staring out at the ocean from the small patch of beach that served as his backyard. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, leaving the sky bright with oranges and purples that faded to a serene blue overhead. He could just barely make out the sounds of something sizzling on the grill in the summer kitchen, and raised his face to the sky, trying to get a smell of it. Shrimp, he thought, though he couldn't be sure. Garlic, definitely, and fresh fruit. He lowered his head again, sighing. That had been one of the hardest things to get used to on this island. The food was so different from what he was used to, and he sometimes craved a nice big plate of shepherd's pie or treacle tarts. And they drank coffee here, not tea, although tea was available at a much higher price. He'd adjusted. Perhaps not as quickly as he could have, but at the time, he'd only been 17. He hadn't really known enough of the world to fit in perfectly.

He had wanted nothing more than to find a place where the name Harry Potter didn't make anyone look at him twice. He had been afraid that he wouldn't find such a place, but he had. He'd traveled nearly halfway around the world to find it, but he'd managed. His scar was usually kept covered by his hair, but on the rare occasion that someone did see it, they always attributed it to an accident of some sort. Most people here had never even heard of Voldemort, and those who had seemed to consider him Britain's problem, not theirs.

It was as close to paradise, he believed, as his life could possibly get while Voldemort still lived.

He could hear Celia singing, her voice drifting out to him from the kitchen window. She couldn't sing very well, and the songs she picked were depressing, always about lost love and heartache. Harry knew heartache too well, and he hated having to listen to her lamenting it with those gloomy songs.

It was one of many things about her that irritated him these days. She wasn't a bad person, and she was company for him when he had no one else around, but he didn't love her. Not by any stretch of the imagination did he feel anything that deep for her. He didn't think she really loved him either. In fact, he was quite sure that they were both in this relationship (to use the term very loosely) simply because the only other option on this island was celibacy.

He'd realized very early on that younger people didn't stay here long. Most, when they had learned all their parents could teach them of magic, moved off the island to study or work elsewhere. He was, even at his assumed age of 23, one of the youngest people on the island. Celia, at 27, had only stayed on because her mother had passed on and there was no one else to run the family business, a veterinary clinic for magical (and some non-magical) creatures.

Even Enny, who was the closest thing to a friend that Harry had here, was nearing 40 and remained on the island simply because he owned Anderia's only pub.

Enny had been the first person Harry had met on the island, and he'd always been glad for that. Enny had introduced him to Miss Horn, who had rented her home to him after she'd moved to the mainland, and to Dalley Gutrey, the local apothecary, who had given Harry a job.

And Harry had met Celia in Enny's pub.

One evening, Dalley had made plans, and had closed down the shop early. He had, despite Harry's insistence that he didn't mind staying, told Harry to take the evening off. Harry had been on his way home when he'd walked past Enny's bar. He didn't know what made him decide to go in rather than just going home, but he'd found himself pushing the door open and stepping inside before he even thought about it.

"Harry!" Enny had greeted from behind the bar. "Haven't seen ya in 'ere in a while. Tought you'd forgotten where we were."

Harry had laughed. "I've just been busy working."

"Ah, a man after me own heart, you are. What can I get ya?"

Harry had thought to order a butterbeer, like always, but something else caught his eyes. On the counter behind the bar was a bottle of some kind of blue liquid. "What's that stuff?" he'd asked, motioning to it.

Enny had turned, then picked up the bottle. "Dis? Dis 'ere is me own special recipe. I call it Laquita."

"Laquita?" Harry had asked, pushing himself onto the stool. "Why Laquita?"

"Because I invented it while I was trying to drink away an ol' love. 'Er name was Laquita. An' since it work so well, I name the drink after 'er. Would ya like to try a bit?"

Harry shrugged. He'd never drunk anything intoxicating in his life but, for some reason, now seemed a good time to start. "Yeah, sure."

Harry had nearly spit the first taste of it back across the counter. He'd managed to swallow it, but only barely. "Geez, Enny," he'd coughed. "What the hell is in this stuff?"

"Ah, no. I never reveal dat secret, me friend. You're jus' gonna have to trust me."

Against his better judgment, Harry had taken another drink, which went down slightly more smoothly, and then another, which was almost good. By the time he'd finally slammed his empty glass down on the bar, he'd been feeling incredibly good. "Can I have another?" he'd rasped to Enny, who looked at him, chuckling.

"I'll get ya another, but ya ain' gonna be Apparating home tonight, ya hear me?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, all right." He'd been halfway through his second glass when he felt someone come up beside him and heard a woman's voice.

"Hello, Enny. How's me credit tonight?"

Harry had turned his head just slightly to catch a glimpse of the speaker and nearly fallen off his stool. She was beautiful. Her long, brown hair had been tied back in a tail, a few strands pulled loose to fall around her face. She had a round face with high cheekbones, and full lips that were pulled back into a pretty smile. She had glanced at Harry for a second, then back at Enny, who was saying, "Ya know ya got credit 'ere anytime, Celia. Now what can I get ya to drink, eh?"

She had bitten her lip, glancing at Harry again. "I tink I'll just have a glass of wine. Don' wanna get too loopy, ya know."

"Ya got it," Enny had said, glancing at Harry too. Then, he'd chuckled. "By the way, Celia, dis 'ere is Harry. 'E's new to the island. Harry, dis is Celia."

She'd held out her hand to him. "Hello, Harry," she'd said, giving his hand a firm shake. "Very nice to meet ya."

Harry had barely managed to cough out a "Hello". His throat had constricted when he'd tried to say more, and he had wondered if the burn in his cheek was from embarrassment or the liquor.

Enny had laughed again, then patted Harry's shoulder. "Now ya can stop staring at her, Harry."

Harry had known then that the rise in heat was from embarrassment and he looked away quickly. Celia had scooted onto the stool next to him. "I'm--- sorry," he'd muttered, staring down into his glass.

She had laughed. "Not a problem," she'd grinned. "Although I'm not all dat use to being stared at."

His mouth had dropped open. Before he could stop himself, he had said "You can't be serious. People must stare at you all the time."

She'd frowned slightly, turning to look at him with soft brown eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

He had shut his eyes and shaken his head. "I should really just stop talking, I think. I'm making an ass of myself."

Celia had broken into a fit of giggles. "I tink dat might be because you're a little drunk. Do you tink?"

He had started to deny it, then found himself nodding. "Yeah, I think I am."

"Well den, why don' we start all over." She had turned away for a second, then turned to look at him again. "Oh, hello dere. I'm Celia. And you are?" She held out her hand again.

He'd laughed. "Harry. Very nice to meet you, Celia."

"Likewise, Harry. You're new to the island, yes?"

"Yes, fairly. I've been here about two months now."

She'd raised her eyebrows. "Den how is it possible dat we haven't met before?"

"I'm usually at home or at work. I don't go out much."

"Ah, and where is your job?"

"I work for Mr. Dalley at the apothecary."

"Dat explains it den. I don' go to Mr. Dalley very often. Me mum was big on brewing everyting 'erself, so I guess I jus' always do the same ting."

Harry had smiled. "Nothing wrong with that."

"You have quite an int'resting accent 'dere, Harry. Where ya from?"

He had been asked that a lot, and no one ever seemed to think twice when he told them. He'd long ago understood that Anderia knew little or nothing about what went on in Europe, save Enny who had visited there once or twice. "England," he'd said, eyeing the glass that Enny placed in front of him with a bit of caution. He was already pretty drunk, and wondered if he shouldn't just quit now. It must have been his pride that made him go ahead and take another drink.

"Ah, Englan' eh? I never been there meself, but I heard it's a beautiful country. How are you liking our islan' then?"

He had grinned, bolstered more than a little by the alcohol. "I'm liking it quite a lot at the moment."

Celia had caught his meaning and grinned back. "Are all Englishmen are charming as you?"

He had laughed, taking another drink. "Most are more, probably. Most of my charm is coming out of that bottle over there."

"Well, I don' know bout that, but I would cert'nly like to find out sometime."

He'd tried to wrap his intoxicated mind around that. Was she --- was it even possible that she was --- _flirting_ with him? Surely not. He had studied her as closely as his swimming vision would let him. It certainly looked like it. A deeper blush had risen on his cheeks. Enny had brought Celia a glass of wine and put it in front of her, and Harry had immediately reached for his pocket. "Here, let me."

Enny was obviously biting back a grin as Harry handed him the money. "Thank ya kindly, Harry. Ken I get ya some more of dat Laquita dere?"

Harry had shaken his head almost too vehemently. "Ah, no thanks, Enny. I've had enough."

"Celia," Enny had chuckled softly. "I don' suppose I could get ya ta walk Harry 'ere back to his place, could I? E's a good customer o' mine and I'd hate to see anyting happen to him."

She had grinned. "I suppose I could be of some help to ya dere, Enny. After all, he is a visitor to our islan' and I can' let him go gettin' lost now, can I?"

Harry had been thoroughly embarrassed by their teasing, but it had made him feel strangely accepted as well. "In that case, Enny, perhaps I will have just one more shot."

Six shots later, with his arm thrown over Celia's shoulder and barely managing to stay upright, Harry had stumbled out of the bar and in the direction he assumed was home. He'd been wrong, unfortunately, and Celia had tried to hold him up and spin him in the right direction.

This had resulted in a clumsy tango, with all of Harry's weight on Celia and both of his arms wrapped around her. She'd lost her footing and they had tumbled to the sandy ground, with Harry on bottom. He'd hit with an oomph, followed by a strangled cry as her knee came down straight into his groin. She'd pushed herself up just enough to look at his face, quickly moving her knees and glancing down. "Oh, God, Harry. I'm so sorry. I didn' mean ta—oh, are ya all right?"

He had bitten his lip, trying hard not to reach down and make sure that everything was intact. "Yeah, I think so. Sorry 'bout that. I reckon I should've stopped drinkin' a few shots earlier, eh?" He'd stared up at her, barely able to keep her in focus. "I'm not a great drinker, y'know. Bit of a lightweight."

She had laughed softly, still leaning over him. "Yeah, well, we should be gettin' ya home. I think ya'd do better ta get some sleep."

He'd tried to nod, but wasn't sure he accomplished it. "Yeah, 's prob'ly not a bad idea. I'm feelin' a bit sick."

She hadn't moved though, just looked down at him with her beautiful brown eyes. "How old are ya', Harry?"

"Twenty," he'd lied, the same lie he'd told everyone else who asked.

She had nodded, smiling slightly. "Can I come home with ya, Harry?"

"You're walkin' me home aren't you?" he had asked, frowning.

"I mean," she'd said softly, leaning even closer to him so that their faces were separated only by a matter of centimeters. "Can I come in with ya'? Can I stay with ya?"

Harry had finally gotten it, although he wasn't sure how long it had actually taken him. "Oh—oh. You want to—stay."

"If you'll let me."

"I—yeah, of course. Yes, please do."

She'd giggled. "Thank you. Now, come on. Let's get ya home."

He couldn't remember the rest of the trip or, unfortunately, most of the night that followed. He recalled small flashes, mostly of feelings and sensations, but nothing definite, which was a huge shame. What should have been the best night of his life was nothing more than a drunken blur that Celia still giggled about to this day.

It served him right, he figured. After all, he should have known better than to drink anything that Enny had created.

Celia startled him out of his thoughts, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Dinner's almost ready."

He nodded, wishing he could brush her off, not daring to do it. "Okay."

She kissed his cheek gently. "What are you thinking about?"

He shrugged. "Nothing."

She sighed, but nodded, her cheek brushing his, her long hair falling over his shoulder. "Well, come on in."

"Be there in a minute."

He waited until he heard her footsteps padding back across the loose sand before he glanced over his shoulder at her. It never ceased to amaze him that she put up with his moods, but she never complained about them. In fact, she rarely seemed to care what his mood was, as long as he was eventually curled up beside her in bed every night.

He sighed and glanced back at the ocean before standing and following her into the house. Whatever he'd expected from a relationship, it wasn't this.

* * *

Chapter 2 is with the beta right now. If you like it, let me know. If I don't hear anything, I'm holding the rest hostage. :D Review and I'll give you a cookie.


	2. Hereafter Evermore

**Breaking Rules**

_Hereafter Evermore_

Author: Rylee Jane

Rating: M

Summary: Harry has left England behind, and Voldemort's forces have taken over. In the Hereafter, Sirius receives a proposition he can't resist. Rated for language and some adult content.

Disclaimers: I wish, oh how I wish, I could say I owned them. But they're all J.K. Rowling's. God bless her.

* * *

A breeze blew across the hill, ruffling the grass at his feet and Sirius smiled. The sun shone, as it did every day here, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was so warm that Sirius had shed his robes, was sitting barefoot in the sweet-smelling grass, just relaxing. He preferred to never be cold here. It reminded him too much of the time he'd spent in Azkaban, with the Dementors hovering overhead, threatening to suck out any pleasant feelings he'd ever had.

This place, though, was the exact opposite of Azkaban. Here, he was always warm, always happy. Here, even the bad memories of life were coated with a numbed feeling, as though they'd never really happened to him. Here was a beautiful place to be.

_Sirius?_ A voice broke into his mind, a pleasant female voice that always seemed to hold a hint of laughter.

_Hello, Genevieve, _he answered without speaking.

He felt, rather than heard, her chuckle. _May I visit you?_

He smiled. She always asked, although he'd told her many times that it was unnecessary. _You may._

She appeared beside him a second later, smiling down at him. Her hair was a soft, deep red, not carrot-orange like the Weasleys', but a darker color, almost auburn. Her skin had a silvery sheen to it, that had immediately told Sirius that she wasn't now, and never had been, human. She had a nice smile, although it was a bit too wide, making her look a bit odd.

"How are you?" she asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground next to him.

He laughed. It was a common joke between them, as there was no way that he could be anything but okay here. He was never anything less than perfectly happy here. "Well as could be expected in the hellhole," he muttered, grinning.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "You have to be the biggest nut I've ever met, do you know that?"

He nodded. "I suppose so. Have you been busy lately?"

She frowned just slightly, the light in her eyes fading. "Too busy. It seems that Voldemort has been working overtime."

Sirius sighed, feeling a slight ache in his chest. What would have depressed him terribly in life made him feel only a small amount of sympathy here. It wasn't that he didn't care anymore. He still cared enormously. This place, however, made it impossible to feel true grief for anything. "How many?"

"Twelve this week," she said softly. "Two of them children."

Sirius winced. "Bastard."

She nodded. "Yep." She shifted her legs, straightening her skirt. "I came to talk to you about something. I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you about this before, but we're required to wait three years after your arrival, to give you time to adjust."

He glanced at her, then looked away again. "I've been here three years already?"

She smiled. "Time goes so quickly here, doesn't it?"

"You can say that again."

"Anyway," she continued, looking slightly nervous. "You are permitted, if you wish, to go back and watch over your loved ones." He turned to look at her again, opening his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand. "Please, let me finish. You will go back in spirit only. You will not be seen, not be heard. You can't communicate with them at all. They won't even feel you there, no matter what you do. You can only watch and listen. You cannot, in any way, interfere with their lives."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "But I can check in on them."

"You can. Keep in mind, however, that not being able to help them in any way can leave you feeling frustrated. It can, and most likely will, leave you less contented when you return here."

He snorted. "Less contented? That would hardly be enough to make me not go."

"Sirius, there are---." She stopped, sighing. "When you go back, you can pick up their emotions. If they aren't perfectly happy, perfectly content, which they never are, then whatever emotions they're feeling will come back with you. If they're sad, you'll be sad. Anger, pain, whatever, it comes back with you. You'll be like a sponge for their emotions."

He shut his eyes briefly, finally understanding. The contentment he had felt here for three years had left him with very little memory of any other emotion. He had no definite memory of what pain, or sadness, or anger felt like. He only knew that all of them were much less pleasant than the sensations he had grown used to feeling here.

He also knew that there was a lot of pain in the world now. Harry had left London, and no one knew where he was. Without his presence, Voldemort had all but taken over, not only London, but a substantial area of Europe. Murders were commonplace there, now, and the grief and pain that Voldemort left in his wake was worse than they had ever seen. It was, he had been told, only a matter of time before the whole continent was completely under his rule.

This was what he would be returning to, if he went to see Remus, or Arthur and the remaining Weasleys. They were all still fighting the good fight, and losing impressively.

A thought came to him. "Do you--- do you know where Harry is?"

She nodded, a little hesitantly. "I do. But be forewarned, young Mr. Potter is in no better shape than those in London."

Sirius had asked, long ago, if the Death Eaters had Harry. When he'd heard that Harry had gone missing, he'd almost found himself hoping that he'd be able to see him again soon. It was a terrible thought, he knew, but if Harry had died... But Genevieve had assured him that Harry was not dead, nor had he been taken by Death Eaters. He had simply given up, left London and never told anyone where he was going. Until now, Sirius had never thought to ask where he'd gone, only whether he was safe. Which, he'd been assured, Harry was.

"What's wrong with him?" Sirius asked now, feeling that tugging in his chest again. "He's not hurt?"

Genevieve frowned, lowering her eyes. "He's fine physically. To say that he's well, however, would be untrue. You know how Harry is. He's been severely depressed since your death. He feels that anything that has happened with Voldemort since he left is his fault." She sighed softly. "You must understand, he's had no contact with London or anywhere else in Europe since he left. He has no idea what is actually going on there."

Sirius started to say that that was a relief. Then he realized something. Harry was a smart kid. He would surely know that things were very, very bad in Europe. He would know that Voldemort having free rein meant that people, Muggles and wizards alike, would have been killed. Only, knowing Harry the way he did, he knew that Harry could have exaggerated this in his mind, imagining the circumstances to be much worse than the reality.

"He thinks he's responsible?"

She nodded. "He blames himself every minute of every day for running away the way he did."

Sirius swallowed again. He hadn't been able to believe it when he'd heard that Harry had left London. It was completely unlike his godson to turn tail like that. Not, he reminded himself, that Harry could be blamed for wanting to get away. The boy had, at the age of sixteen, seen and felt more pain and horror than most people could imagine. That he would decide he'd had enough was more than reasonable. As much as Sirius liked to believe that he would have been brave, had he been in Harry's position, he doubted that he would have fared much better.

"Who could blame him?" Genevieve broke in gently. "I doubt I would have been able to conjure half as much bravery as he did. I still think him a hero."

Sirius barked out a laugh, ignoring the fact that Genevieve had just invaded his thoughts. It wasn't a surprise that she had, because he knew she had the ability, and she did it only when she felt it necessary. "He shouldn't have to be a hero. He should have been left alone."

"We all have our destinies, Sirius. Harry was meant for a much larger one than most of us, but he was also given the strength to handle it."

Sirius wheeled to look at her. "Are you saying he shirked his destiny? That he backed down from his fate when he didn't have to?"

"No," she said gently, reaching out to touch his arm. "Harry is not done fighting, Sirius. It is unfortunate that he has still more to do. He's not done anything that wasn't in the cards in the first place. He will rise again."

"How can you know that?" Sirius asked, an edge to his voice. Somewhere deep down, he knew that he was remembering, to a much lesser extent than he had known in life, what anger was. "How can you know?"

She squinted up at the sky and waved her hand. "It was written long ago. There are some things that are predestined. Harry will fight again."

"Will he win?"

She smiled slightly. "That isn't yet known. I wish I could say otherwise, but not everything is predestined. Whether he will win or not is all up to Harry."

Sirius shook his head. "I don't get all the metaphysical stuff. I don't get how you can know that he will fight again, but not if he will win or lose."

She chuckled softly, then motioned to a tree that had just appeared at the bottom of the hill. "Okay, see that tree there?"

Sirius nodded. "D'you make that?"

"I did."

"It's nice."

"Thank you. Anyway, look at the trunk. That trunk is fate. That trunk is something that has to be there, the foundation for the branches. The branches, however, are not predestined. They grow as the tree wishes. The branches are our choices. They branch into even more branches, some shorter, some longer, but all ending."

Sirius looked at them carefully. "If that tree is Harry's fate, then the branches are all the things that could happen to him?"

"Yes. It was determined, a long time ago, where Harry would be at this point in his life. That he would run from what he was facing. Everything that he's done up until now is the trunk. He's about to reach the branches."

Sirius sighed. "Do any of the branches involve him losing?"

Genevieve frowned. "I'm afraid so. The short ones. The ones that end in broken, jagged edges. Those are his defeats."

Sirius winced. There were many branches that looked as though they had been hacked off, ripped from the tree with little thought. Some, however, had grown long, branching off several more times until they reached up to the sky and ended in a tapering point. Sirius could only imagine that those branches were the ones that led to a peaceful, non-violent death after a long, mostly happy life. "There are too damned many branches," he muttered. "How is he supposed to know which are the right ones?"

Genevieve shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't answer that. He may not know. Some of the safest are also the flimsiest. Some of the thickest and sturdiest are also the shortest. It's not apparent why we choose the ones that we do. What I can tell you, however, is that the branches continue, even after we die. You are at a branch now, yourself."

"The choice of whether to go see Harry or not."

"Yes."

"Can you tell me which is the short branch?"

She laughed. "I'm afraid even I don't know that one. I tell you this only because I want you to understand that you must think carefully about this choice. Don't be rash about it."

He started to wave off her statement, then sighed. "All right. I'll think about it."

She nodded. "Let me know when you've made a choice." And then she disappeared.

He noticed, however, that the tree remained.

Ta-Da! Chapter 2. I will be sending 2 to the betas sometime soon, so read and review and give me some incentive to hurry this thing along! This is going to be a Sirius/Harry story, but not a slash story. Come on, that would just be a bit gross, don't you think? Thanks for reading. You ROCK!


	3. Good Fences Block Bad Neighbors

Breaking Rules

by Rylee Jane

Author's Note: It's beenforever since I've even thought about this story, to be honest. I didn't think anyone was reading it, so I quit writing it. But, it's a good story, so I'm going to give it another shot.

* * *

Chapter 3 

Anderia wasn't a large island, and had a population of barely 400 people, all magical. The island was masked, so Muggles couldn't see it at all, and during the summer, it did a decent tourist trade.

It was less than a mile from Harry's house on the western shore to Dalley's shop, close to the middle of "town", and Harry preferred to walk the distance to and from, rather than Apparating. The weather was almost always pleasant warm and dry during the day, just a bit chilly at night, and the smell of the ocean was so thick in the air that Harry sometimes felt he would choke on it.

He passed the post office and the food mart, nodding to Marly Jentsen, the town healer's wife. She was one of those women that really liked to chat and Harry knew if hewascornered by her, he'd end up being late to work, so he rushed on as quickly as possible. She probably thought it rude of him, but she would undoubtedly chalk it up to him being British or something.

In truth, he didn't talk much to anyone here. He talked to Celia, of course, since he lived with her and could hardly avoid talking to her, and he would hang out with Enny and his wife, Camita, from time to time. He talked to Dalley at work, but he really did more listening than talking there too.

Most people had gotten the hint and stopped trying to carry on a conversation with him a long time ago, sticking mostly to small talk when they saw him on the street (if they spoke at all), or to business when they visited the shop.

He was, he knew, considered a bit backwards, maybe a bit peculiar or moody. He was fine with that. He was an outsider, even after being here three years, and he didn't know that he wanted to be completely accepted. As long as people treated him as a guest, he would have no problem behaving like one.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew why he preferred it that way. He would never allow himself to think about it, but he didn't plan to stay here. He knew that, someday, he'd just decide to go and he'd go. He'd grab his bag, pack his stuff and go. He wouldn't say goodbye, he wouldn't take anyone with him, he'd just disappear.

He winced as he realized that he walking past Celia's office. She was standing at the counter, talking to her assistant, Kia. As Harry passed, Kia glanced up and waved,nudging Celia.

Celia smiled brightly at him as she moved towards the door. "Hey you," she said, stepping out onto the sidewalk. "I tought you'd be at work a'ready."

"I'm running a bit late this morning," he said, putting one arm around her waist as she hugged him. "Guess I should have gone to bed earlier last night, huh?"

She laughed. "Oh it's not the goin' to bed dat gets us, it's the goin' to sleep when we go to bed." She brushed a kiss across his cheek. "You'd better go now before I make you come inside and you're even later for work."

He nodded, giving her one last squeeze before heading off up the sidewalk.

"You'll be home for dinner, yeah?" she called after him.

"Yeah. Of course." He waved at her over his shoulder, trying to ignore a pang of fuilt as he turned the corner onto the main street. He stopped in front of the shop and moved to push the door open. It stayed shut.

He glanced at his watch, shaking his head. Dalley was never late opening the store, and it was after eight. He pulled his wand, muttered the password and waited until he heard the lock click open. "Dalley?" he called, stepping inside.

The shop was quiet; the only sound was the soft creak of the enchanted fans on the ceiling. "Dalley, you here?"

Harry went around the counter and into the back room. It, too, was empty.

He sighed, tossing his bag onto the work table and pulling on his work robes. He glanced at the list of orders they had to fill today. Nothing too difficult. Ointment for Mr. Kern's stiff knee, sleeping draught for Mrs. Cawshell (insomniac extraordinaire), a boil potion for Annie Rourkey (Harry didn't even want to imagine where the wrinkled, old woman had a boil), and a batch of hiccough-cessation solution for Miss Ernestine Mallort (Harry wished she'd quit drinking the "potion" that was giving her the hiccoughs in the first place, since she came in at least twice a month for the remedy.)

He pulled an apron on over his robes and started gathering the ingredients for the boil-cure. He had just finished crushing the snake fangs when he heard the bell over the door jingle.

"Be right with you," he called through the curtain, dumping the powder into the cauldron and lowering the flame. He stepped out into the store, wiping his hands on an old towel. "Oh, hello, Ms. Grant," he said, forcing a smile. "What can I do for you?"

The woman turned to smile at him, holding out her hand. "Ah, Harry, me dear boy. How many times do I have to ask ya to call me Rubea, eh?"

Harry gave her hand a small shake, releasing it as quickly as could still be considered polite. Rubea Grant was his next door neighbor, and even for a village full of eccentric wizards, she was odd. She always looked at Harry strangely when she saw him, as though she could see right through him. She made him extremely nervous, and he tried to avoid her whenever possible. He stepped away from her as subtly as he could. "Of course, I'm sorry. What can I help you with today?"

"Well, Mr. Dalley tol' me he was gettin' some dragon claws in sometime dis week. Have dey come in yet?"

"Uh, yeah, we got them yesterday. What kind were you wanting?"

"Oh, I normally jus' use Welsh Green. Do you recommend someting else?"

Harry shrugged, leading her over to the bins with the dragon claws. "The Greens work fine, but it really depends on the potion you're making. For a vitality potion, the Ridgeback's claws are better than the Green's, and the Fireball's are really the best, but they can be temperamental too. You can also use dragon claws instead of doxy wings in some memory-boosting potions, except you have to boil them first or they can cause belligerence." He stopped, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, listen to me ramble on. The Greens will do fine for almost any potion."

Rubea laughed, her eyes wide. "No, ya're fine, dear. I tink dat's the most I've heard you say since I've met ya. An' I had no idea dere was so much to know 'bout dragon claws. I need someting for a strengthening potion. Time to be working in the garden and these ol' arms of mine can' quite take dat kin' of work anymore. Which claws would ya recommen' for dat?"

"Oh, you'll want Ridgeback or Horntail claws for that, then. They're much heartier than Greens and much more potent as well. If you use the Horntail claws, you'll want to cut the amount back a bit, though. Too much can give you nasty heartburn."

"How much do I use den? I get heartburn bad enough wit'out dis to help me" Rubea laughed.

"Let me check the book to make sure," Harry said, motioning to the shelves of books at the back of the store. "Dalley has a great heartburn remedy, by the way, if you ever want to try it." He moved behind the counter, running his finger along the spines of the books. He found the one he was looking for and started thumbing through it. "Sorry about this," he muttered as Rubea came wandering back toward him. "Dalley's normally here to handle this, but he's—not made it in yet. Here it is, you'll want to half the quantity."

Rubea frowned at him. "Really? They're that powerful den?"

"Apparently," Harry nodded. "They're a bit more expensive, normally, because they're so much more powerful, but Dalley sells them all for the same price."

"It's no wonder dat man isn' rich. He's too damned nice."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "He is, at that."

"Well, den, I'll take the Horntail claws. Ya don' happen to have any of dat Heartburn remedy stocked, do ya?"

"I'm not sure. Let me check in the back."

Harry knew there were several bottles of the stuff sitting on the shelves in the stock room, but he wanted to take his time getting some. Rubea had been staring at him again, and he thought he'd seen her eyes flick up to the scar on his forehead for a moment. He was more than used to people back in London staring at the scar, but people here usually paid it no mind. To have Rubea, whose gaze was so penetrating and keen, stare at it was unnerving to say the least.

He moved some boxes around and rattleda fewbottles, taking as long as he thought he could before carrying the correct bottle back into the store. "Here we are. You'll want to take it with water, as it burns a bit going down. Two teaspoons in 8 ounces of water should do it."

Rubea smiled, taking the bottle and laying her bag of dragon's claws on the counter. "Thank ya, Harry. Such a sweet boy, ya're. Celia's a lucky, lucky girl to have ya." She laid two silver coins on the counter. "I owe Mr. Dalley some on me tab, too. Ya tell him if dat ain' enough to cover, I'll give him the rest nex' time I'm in. A'right?"

"Of course," Harry said, putting the money in the drawer under the counter. He looked back up, surprised to see the Rubea was still standing there, staring at him. "Is there something else I can help you with?"

She continued to stare at him, her eyes gazing unblinkingly into his. Harry felt a chill run through him, felt his blood turn cold in his veins, and he shivered. "Ru-Rubea?"

She shook herself, blinking suddenly. She seemed disoriented for a moment, her eyes unfocused. Then, she looked at him again and started. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I mus' have—gotten lost in thought. You were saying, dear?"

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "Nothing. I wasn't—saying anything. Are you okay?"

"Oh, yes," she said, but she seemed a bit shaken. "Yes, I'm—fine. Old age, ya know. Does strange tings to ya're mind."

Harry couldn't even force a laugh. He just stared at her, wondering what had just happened. He watched as she picked up her purchases and made her way to the door.

"Ya have a nice day, Harry," she said, not looking back.

* * *

So there's a new chapter. Let me know what you think, please:D More later!


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